Oasis
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series. The tag for 'The Usual Suspects', 2x7. Wincest


Sam collapses down in a beat-up old armchair in the corner the minute they get into the room. He lets Dean unload their bags and doesn't offer to help – Dean doesn't ask anyway. It's too much, sometimes, how often they come so close to losing each other on a hunt. And this one was worse, because in the end it was just a person. It wasn't a spirit following a pattern they could predict and track and get ahead of, it was just a human being, desperate and frantic and completely out of options. When Sam found out the cop had taken Dean, he doesn't think he's ever been so scared in his life. He just panicked – the only thing running through his mind was to get to Dean.

He lets his head fall back onto the cushion, running his hands over his face and trying to stop himself from constantly picturing Dean on the ground with a gun pointed in his face. It was one of the most terrifying things he's ever seen in his life, and considering what he does on a daily basis, that's really saying something. He tries to picture flowers or the beach or a sunset, anything to get that horrible image out of his head, but it doesn't work. The scene just keeps playing over and over behind his eyes, and there's a clenching in his chest that's been there all night and still shows no signs of going away. He hates it, _hates it_, when anything's even in the vicinity of taking Dean away from him. It's Sam's absolute worst nightmare, and it happens so often that sometimes he isn't sure how he manages to do this job anymore.

"Well that was a fucking weird one," Dean pronounces, stretching his arms up over his head so his shirt lifts, and Sam catches just a glimpse of pale skin above his jeans. He was already kind of out of it and he's distracted for just a moment too long, until Dean says, "Hey!"

"I … sorry, what?" Sam asks after a second.

"The case, dumbass," Dean answers with a smirk. "I mean, how many times in our lives has a hunt ended with a person being the killer?"

"Oh. Yeah, I know."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Were you checkin' me out?"

Sam laughs softly in spite of himself. "Maybe."

"Almost being fucked by the long dick of the law a turn on for you, Sammy-boy?" Dean asks, all cock and swagger as he saunters over to where Sam's sitting.

"No," Sam says, rolling his eyes just a little for effect. "We gotta be more careful, man. We got lucky on this one, but we could'a been totally screwed. We could've gone to jail, like, for real."

"Don't worry," Dean says lightly, planting one knee beside Sam's legs and then the other, settling himself down on Sam's thighs. "I'd protect that sweet little ass of yours."

Sam glares at him. "That isn't the point."

"I know it's not the point," Dean says silkily, leaning down and kissing wetly along Sam's jaw. "M'trying to make it the point. 'Cause it's a really, _really_ nice ass."

"I'm being serious, Dean!" San snaps, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him back up.

Dean huffs in annoyance. "Two minutes ago you were lookin' at me like you wanted to eat me alive, and now that I'm, literally, _in your lap_, now you wanna have a serious conversation about this?"

"I was freaked out!" Sam says, instantly defensive, even though he can't deny how good it feels to have Dean this close to him, especially after everything that happened. "They had all this shit on you! Finger prints and lists of graves we've dug up, the stuff from St. Louis, and then finding you standing over Karen's body all covered in her blood? And the witness that saw us break into Tony's office? Do you have any idea how deadly that could've been? We seriously got lucky, that's all I'm saying. But what if we hadn't? That wouldn't've been something we could've weaseled our way out of!"

"Sam," Dean sighs. "Look, you're right, okay? We got too close on this one. I get that. But it's over, everything worked out. The bad guy lost, and we're fine. So do we really have to do this?"

"I just …" Sam trails off and drops his gaze. He knows he's being stupid, but he can't help it. He's getting sick of living with this sticky, uncomfortable feeling in his gut – like every time they start a new hunt, he gets a little bit closer to the day Dean will be taken away from him for good.

Dean sighs again, but this time it sounds resigned instead of annoyed. When Sam looks up, there's a funny look in Dean's green eyes; something like exhaustion and sympathy and understanding all mixed into one. It's the understanding bit that has a lump forming in the back of Sam's throat.

"Dean."

"Yeah," Dean says quietly, dropping his head again and kissing Sam softly on the lips. "I know. I was scared too."

Sam swallows thickly and blinks furiously against the stinging behind his eyes. He brushes his knuckles over Dean's cheek and then cups the back of his neck, keeping their foreheads resting together. "For a minute, I really thought he was gonna pull the trigger. I thought she was gonna let him."

"So did I. People're crazy, right?"

"Yeah," Sam breathes.

Dean nods, his nose bumping into Sam's, and then he leans even further down and rests his head on Sam's shoulder. He inches just a little bit closer, completely in Sam's space now and leaning heavily against his chest. Sam knows exactly what he's doing. Sometimes, after a close call, words don't help. It isn't enough for Dean to assure Sam that he's okay and alive and still here with him, because that much Sam can see for himself. It isn't Sam's head that needs convincing, it's his heart. And this, being completely surrounded with Dean – his smell, the sound of him breathing, the warm weight of him pressing against Sam's body – is the only thing that really works. So Sam slides his arms around Dean's back and holds on. He breathes him in, lets Dean soak into his pores, and tries to let it soothe the ache in his chest.

He hates himself a little for letting it affect him so much. He knows the job they do is dangerous, he should be used to this by now. He's been going through it his whole life, bouncing back and forth between knowing how important what they do is and never wanting to do it again. Way too many times when he was a kid, Dad and Dean would come home from a hunt all battered and bruised and covered in blood, and Sam would help clean their wounds and stitch them up without a word and then sob himself to sleep after they'd passed out. So many things have changed since then, but every time Dean is in any kind of real danger, Sam feels like that twelve-year-old kid again; watching helplessly as his brother and best friend and hero selflessly throws himself into the claws of something big and bad and inches just one step closer to the day he finally loses the battle and leaves Sam all alone.

If Sam's going to be a full-time hunter again, which seems to be the way things are heading since it's been over a year and they still have mostly a big pile of nothing where finding the demon is concerned, he really will have to learn how to deal with this sort of thing better. They dance with death every time they start a new hunt; they always have. That's nothing new. But somehow it's worse now than it was when Sam was younger. Maybe _because_ he was younger – naive and too trusting and subconsciously convinced of his own immortality, and of Dean's. He thinks maybe losing Dad made him realize how easy it would be for it to all be over. Sam isn't afraid of dying, he's afraid of losing Dean. Even more now than ever, because as much as he loved his big brother when he was a kid, now he's _in_ love with him – as his brother and his best friend and his partner and as everything else. Losing Jessica was agony. Losing Dean would be a million times worse.

As if he can sense that Sam needs it, and he probably can, Dean kisses Sam's neck, tentatively at first and then more when Sam makes a contented sound in his throat. Dean lifts his head up, blinking down into Sam's eyes and Sam looks back at him. For almost a minute, he just looks, and Sam keeps on looking back. Dean cups Sam's jaw in his hand, running the pad of his thumb along Sam's bottom lip, and Sam turns into just a little while keeping his eyes locked on Dean's. There are so many different emotions in the clear, green depths – concern, definitely; uncertainty, maybe; and love, hopefully – that Sam can't untangle them all from each other. For a moment he thinks Dean's about to say something, but then Dean just smiles softly and leans down to press his lips against Sam's, and that's more than words could ever be anyway.

Sam kisses back because he has to; because his whole life, his body has just responded to Dean's without conscious thought. It's soft and sweet for just a minute and then it deepens, Dean's lips and tongue working faster and more insistent and Sam's do the same because they don't know how not to.

"Sammy," Dean whispers, nipping at Sam's bottom lip and then kissing it. Sam doesn't respond because he doesn't have to. When Dean says his name like that, everything Dean needs Sam to know, he already does.

"Up," he rasps, patting Dean's hip so he'll get out of Sam's lap. Sam can't handle slow right now. He needs Dean and he needs him immediately; needs Dean to hold him and kiss him and make him feel good so he can forget about how one step in the wrong direction today could have ended up with Dean dead and Sam in jail for the rest of his life, completely, totally alone.

Dean climbs off him, pulling Sam up with him and kissing him again. He slides his fingers into Sam's hair, gripping it tightly and Sam shivers. He kissed Dean back, pushing his fingers under the hem of Dean's shirt. Dean shrugs out of his jacket and then Sam pushes his shirt up, breaking their lips apart for just the few seconds it takes to get Dean's shirt over his head and toss it aside. Dean does the same, tugging Sam's shirts off and already breathing heavily by the time he's done – once the material passes over Sam's eyes, he looks down into wide, green ones full of want and need and anticipation, similar to what bubbles up in his chest as Dean trails his fingers slowly down the bare expanse of Sam's stomach.

"So fuckin' gorgeous," he's pretty sure he hears Dean breathe, just before leaning down and attaching his lips to a spot just above Sam's collarbone and sucking. The tantalizing suction, combined with the way Dean slides his palms over Sam's hips and digs his fingers into the muscle, has Sam's vision blurring a little and his cock so hard in his pants he's dizzy with it.

"Bed?" Sam's hot all over and his heart's going so fast he's sure Dean can hear it, but Dean just shakes his head and nudges Sam backwards.

"Chair," he says, nodding behind them and then smiling cockily up at Sam. "Pants off, first, though."

Sam listens, practically ripping his belt off and kicking out of his shoes and then shoving his jeans and underwear down and off. Dean jogs over to Sam's bag, grabs the small bottle he keeps in the inside pocket, and then shucks out of the rest of his own clothes before making his way back to Sam. He drags his hand over his own mostly hard cock a few times as he walks, and Sam's head spins. It's ridiculous, how much Dean affects him. Mostly, it just reminds Sam how much he loves Dean, wants him, craves him,_ needs_ him; and how utterly broken he'd be if something ever happened to him.

"Don't," Dean says, going up on his toes so he can throw an arm around Sam's shoulder and pull him down for another fervent kiss.

"Don't what?" Sam asks, wrapping his arms around Dean's back and pulling their bodies flush together. Dean's erection bumps into Sam's and he can't quite hold back a small hiss of pleasure.

"Don't start thinking about that again," Dean answers, reading Sam's mind again in a way that should maybe be freaky but is actually just sort of … wonderful. "I'm fine, you're fine, that lady cop is fine. So just put it outta your head."

It's on the tip of Sam's tongue to argue, but then the tip of Dean's tongue replaces it, swirling into Sam's mouth in delicious sweeps, and Sam forgets what he was going to say. He tries to turn them around so Dean can sit in the chair, but Dean stops him and pushes Sam down into it instead.

"How're you gonna – " Sam starts, momentarily confused, but then Dean raises an eyebrow and Sam gets it. "Oh."

"Yeah. _Oh_," Dean repeats with one of those smirky Dean-smiles, and he climbs back into Sam's lap like he was before.

He sits on Sam's thighs and kisses Sam quick and desperate. He wraps both their cocks in one of his hands and strokes them – Sam gets lost in the sensation for just a moment and then he tangles his hand up with Dean's and helps him. Dean's hand is rough and soft at the same time against Sam's heated flesh, and the way he hums deep in his throat and kisses Sam like it's the only thing that matters has Sam's skin crawling with little vibrations just under the surface.

Dean pushes the lube into Sam's free hand, and just to break the spell enough so that he doesn't come right on the spot from the idea of Dean riding him like this, Sam says, "Y'know, I'm probably gonna get an STD from this chair."

Dean chuckles, thick and rich and rumbling. He shakes his head fondly and brushes the hair gently out of Sam's eyes. "Sucks to be you."

Sam smiles at him and Dean smiles back, kissing him again as Sam pops the cap on the lube and pours a generous helping of it over his fingers. He slicks them up more than is probably necessary, because he knows Dean doesn't do this all that often and he also knows neither of them are in the mood to take their time. He reaches around Dean's back, petting along the cleft of his ass and pushing his index finger slowly into Dean's body when he reaches the little hole.

Dean lets out a soft, drawn-out "Ohh," and drops his forehead down to rest against Sam's. It's a 'that feels good' noise, though, Sam can tell, so he moves his finger in and out of Dean a few times and then adds another. Dean opens up quicker than Sam was betting on, probably helped along by Sam's other hand sliding up and down his cock languidly, and Sam's only had three fingers in him for a few moments before Dean's mumbling, "C'mon, m'ready."

Nodding, Sam kisses Dean's forehead as he pulls his fingers out and slicks up his cock, and Dean shuffles forward enough for Sam to line himself up. Dean reaches behind himself and holds Sam's erection by the base to keep it steady, and then he slowly lowers himself down onto it, his head falling forward as he does. Sam could come or die or maybe both at the same time from the sight alone, and then his nerve endings kick in and the feeling of the head of his cock sinking into Dean's tight, wet heat is almost more than Sam's brain can process. Dean's breath is coming in harsh pants and Sam's pretty sure his is too – it's loud in the otherwise quiet room and Sam loves it, loves the sounds Dean makes and the way they mix with his own.

"You okay?" Sam asks softly, curling his fingers over Dean's hips and squeezing.

"Yeah," Dean answers breathlessly. "M'good. You're like a fuckin' baseball bat, but I'm good."

Sam's stomach does a little flip flop at the sort-of compliment, but he frowns nonetheless and rubs his hand soothingly up and down Dean's back. "You sure?"

"I do actually like this, y'know. Even though I'll kill you if you ever repeat that."

Sam laughs a little. "Who am I gonna tell? And you … really?" He was never completely positive whether Dean really enjoyed it this way or if he just did it because he wanted Sam to be happy.

"Yeah, really," Dean answers in a choked voice, lowering himself down the rest of the way and then letting out a brisk "Ah," as Sam moves around inside him.

"You ever do this with anyone else?" Sam asks, even though he's pretty sure he knows the answer.

Dean exhales shortly through his nose, the puff of air tickling Sam's neck. "No. God, never."

"Would you?"

Finally looking up, Dean's glazed, lust-darkened eyes lock with Sam's. "No way. I, uh …" He shrugs a little and looks away again. "Not exactly good at trusting people, y'know? Even if I did want to."

"I know," Sam says softly. He crooks a finger under Dean's chin and lifts his head up so he can slide their mouths together in another slow kiss.

"I trust you," Dean whispers against Sam's lips, and this time it's Sam's heart that feels like it just did a somersault.

"Good," he whispers back, and then Dean starts to move and Sam forgets how to speak.

He just rolls his hips at first, Sam's cock sliding around inside of him and his inner muscles rubbing against every spot on Sam's dick that makes him see stars. Dean kisses him, gripping the sides of Sam's face and swirling his tongue around Sam's mouth – almost like he's begging Sam to kiss him back, to prove that Sam loves him and wants him and that Dean wasn't wrong to put so much trust in him. Dean's never more vulnerable than when he's like this, and Sam's protective instincts surge and he's hit with the overwhelming need to shelter his big brother. Dean's usually so strong and powerful but right now he's so very defenseless and exposed, and Sam almost can't stand it. He wraps his arms around Dean's already sweat-damp back and pulls him in close. Dean goes willingly, resting his head on Sam's shoulder, and then he starts moving faster.

Over and over, he rises up on his knees almost enough for Sam's cock to slip out and then drops back down. He's still so tight around Sam, like his body is sucking Sam up into him, and Sam's dizzy with how fantastic it feels. He's blown away, like he always is, by how perfectly they fit together. Dean grunts and Sam moans and grabs at Dean's ass, squeezing the hard muscle and running his fingers over the thin rim where they're connected. It's so good he's almost delirious – even better when Dean bites down on the sinewy tendon in his neck and colors explode behind Sam's eyelids. His cock sheathed in the sweltering warmth of Dean's body has bursts of pleasure rippling through his whole body, all the way to his fingers and toes like he's on fire; he's spontaneously combusting and Dean is the accelerant.

Dean rolls his hips in a circle again, and a stuttered moan rips out of Sam like a punch. When he does it again, Sam pushes his hips quickly upward so his cock slams into Dean's prostate, and the breathless noise Dean makes is the most beautiful thing Sam's ever heard. He does it a few more times until Dean's moaning continuously, smearing the amazing sounds into Sam's neck.

"_Sammy_," Dean pants. "Fuck."

"Dean," Sam answers, in a voice that's so husky it barely sounds like his own. There's more he wants to say, but his brain has forgotten how to make his mouth form any words other than his brother's name. Doesn't matter, that's the only word that really means anything anyway.

As they move, Sam somehow manages to get a hold of the little tube again and pours a bit into his palm. He reaches between them and smears the gel over Dean's cock, wrapping his hand around it and stroking quickly. He squeezes up the shaft and twists around the head, and Dean laughs a little through broken gasps. He lifts his head up off Sam's shoulder, kissing the corner of Sam's mouth and then resting his forehead back against Sam's.

"Gonna come if you keep that up," he warns, voice as fucked out as he looks, still rocking up and down on Sam's blood-thick length.

"Do it," Sam says, taking Dean's swollen balls in his other hand and rolling them gently so whatever Dean was going to say gets lost on a long moan.

"Fuck," he says again.

"C'mon," Sam whispers between peppering kisses along Dean's jaw. "Look so hot on top'a me. Come for me."

Dean's eyes slam shut, his whole body freezes and then he chokes on a noise that sounds almost like he's in pain as spurts of his release spill over Sam's fingers. His ass clenches around Sam's cock, and Sam's head falls back against the cushion for a moment, groaning at how good that feels. He keeps sliding his hand gently up and down Dean's erection, milking the twitching flesh through the last beats of his orgasm, and then he wipes his hand on the arm of the chair and rubs his other hand up and down Dean's back while he comes down. Dean picks up his movements again after only a minute or so, kissing Sam languidly and bouncing on his cock, and heat bursts at the base of Sam's spine and he comes after maybe a dozen thrusts – the way Dean moves and the smell of them together and the feeling of him so tight around Sam's aching cock, all too much for Sam to hold back any longer.

His vision silvers out around the edges as his orgasm washes over him, and Dean clenches around him again and kisses his open mouth, whispering something to him that Sam doesn't quite hear but understands anyway. He slumps back against Sam's chest, sweaty and warm and perfect, reaching up and petting through Sam's hair. Sam hooks his fingers together and drapes his arms over Dean's shoulders, letting his breathing slow and the mellow pleasure float through him.

Eventually, Dean lifts up enough that Sam's softening dick slips out of him, wrinkling his nose and muttering, "Gross."

Sam chuckles. "Want a towel?"

"Later," Dean says, standing up and tugging Sam up with him.

He lets go of Sam's hand immediately, though, walking over to the bed and collapsing down onto it; just lies there on his back, naked and completely relaxed like he doesn't really care if Sam joins him or not – although Sam knows better. He takes a minute to just look, because Dean is just indescribably beautiful at the worst of times, but especially when his skin is all flushed and glowing and when his lips are curved into a slight smile. He looks _happy_, and that's not a sight Sam sees nearly often enough. Even though Dean said he didn't want one, Sam goes to the bathroom anyway and runs a washcloth under warm water; sitting down on the bed next to Dean's hip and quickly cleaning him up. Then he tosses it back toward the bathroom and lies down beside his brother.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Mhm?" Dean hums groggily.

"I … thanks."

"That good?" Dean asks, with a shit-eating grin on his face that says he already damn well knows the answer.

That wasn't exactly what Sam meant, but it's isn't untrue, so he throws Dean a bone anyway. "Rocked m'world, baby," he drawls.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Don't call me that."

"You call me baby boy," Sam points out.

"Yeah. S'cause you are my baby boy," Dean murmurs, pulling Sam in close and kissing the top of his head. "Always will be. Now shut up, m'tryin' to sleep."


End file.
